emptier, i mean
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: "So you're a real vampire who does real vampire stuff." Kentin/Dimitry slash. Crap. Absolute, bland crap.


**Author's Note: Well, it was Ken's birthday. So here's this way too belated, plotless, mediocre, bland, dull, worthless, tasteless disjointed crap. I'm busy as fuck, so it's rushed and probably even crappier than my normal level of craptastic crapness. Also totally ripped off a thing from ****_Låt den rätte komma in_, because I found said thing interesting and hardly addressed in other examples of the genre. Also because I'm useless, watery shit. **

**Slash and whatnot. Weak metaphors. Title is from A Softer World. **

* * *

The vampire next door does not use electric lighting. He isn't used to such a thing and Kentin is sure he isn't inhabiting the house legally anyway, so it might not even be possible for him to hire an electrician. If he would know how to call an electrician, something Kentin isn't sure he could do since every time his own cellphone rings, Dimitry startles.

But Kentin supposes it doesn't matter anyway because he's getting used to the candlelight. The candles are everywhere, on the mantle, on the floor, along the table and in the chandelier, bathing the room in tranquil yellow light.

"Where did you get so many candles anyway?" Kentin asks, plopping down on the couch.

"Most of them from my castle. The scented ones I purchased at that Dollar Shop." Dimitry glances back to him with a small smile and the flames glint on those dangerous canines, shine in those unnatural, carmine irises.

"Hold up. You had a castle?" Kentin's brows raise.

"For centuries, I did. Until they tore it down." He sighs lowly. "It saddens me, but I suppose it was for the best. It was weathering terribly. But I'm curious, where do you think I lived?"

"Oh." Kentin sheepishly plays with his dog tags. "I guess I thought you lived in a cave. Like a bat."

Dimitry's chuckles lilt like fizzy champagne, his hand over his mouth as he politely tries to stifle them.

"So is that like a real thing? Can you turn into a bat?"

"It's real," says Dimitry. "I could turn into a swarm of bats, or a cat, or fine mist, if I were in my prime. Though I can't as I am now. Animal blood isn't very nourishing and I only drink enough to survive."

Kentin frowns. It's still kind of awkward knowing that he's potentially prey for Dimitry, even if he's confident that he won't hurt him. He also can't help feeling bad for him. He doesn't seem well. It's true that he doesn't look all that bad, the pallid, washed out skin might just be what comes with lack of circulation, but he just sort of moves like he isn't feeling so hot.

He walks with a sickly, lethargic drag and there's always just a trace of pain lining his face.

"What's it like?"

Dimitry hums, pauses. "Imagine if you only ate once a day, and that one thing was a stick of celery. It's different obviously, but the amount of nutrition it adds up to is respectively similar."

Kentin shudders, his stomach turning over. He doesn't really know how to reply. That's terrible for Dimitry, but he can't say he's sorry he restrains himself. If Dimitry doesn't choose to suffer, then innocent people die victual.

"Actually, now that we're on the subject, you wouldn't mind if we cut this visit short, would you?" Dimitry flashes him an apologetic smile. "I adore your company, but I'm really not feeling up to talking."

"We don't have to talk," Kentin finds himself saying. "If you want...You can lay here." He slowly pats his lap.

Dimitry's eyes widen just so and he stares at Kentin for what must be a full minute without a word.

"Sorry," Kentin warbles awkwardly. "I'll just go, I—"

"No, don't." Dimitry shuffles across the carpet and stretches out on the couch, inclining his head onto Kentin's thigh. The curtain of his hair falls back and tickles Kentin's arm like the scurry of small spider legs, raptorial eyes sliding closed. "This is better. You trust me."

"I trust you," Kentin agrees as he wraps his fingers around clawed icicles.

. . .

"So, mirrors. Do you have a reflection or don't you?"

"I don't." Dimitry smiles sheepishly. "If it weren't for the portraits at the castle, I wouldn't know what I look like."

"Outdated is what you look like," Kentin fingers at Dimitry's worn cravat. "My friend thinks my pants are out of style. He'd _scream_ if he saw you."

Dimitry's smile fades and he casts a forlorn gaze to something Kentin can't see. "I'm afraid most people would scream if they saw me, no matter what I'm wearing..."

"I didn't."

Dimitry slowly looks up again and beholds Kentin like he's some angelic embodiment of hope itself and Kentin wants to say,_ hey, don't look at me like that, I just didn't get scared_, but then he can't because Dimitry's mouth is crashing to his.

Kissing Dimitry makes his skin crawl. Whatever sweet, forbidden fantasy those overrated romantic vampire sagas say it's like to rob teenage girls blind of their allowance is way off base.

Kissing Dimitry is akin to kissing a corpse. His lips are frigid and waxy, his equally frigid tongue has the consistency of an overripe banana, he tastes like plaster with the metallic tinge of some small animal he's drained not long ago, and Kentin's always worried that those fangs are going to catch on his own tongue, but he kisses him anyway because he cares.

When they're finally done, he represses the urge to gag and wipes the saliva off his mouth.

"Thank you," murmurs Dimitry.

"Huh? For what?"

"Being here. I'm sorry I'm taciturn at times and I know this is strange, but I've been alone for centuries." Dimitry closes his eyes and bends like a willow branch, nestling his face into the crook of Kentin's neck. "I don't...I don't have the words to express how it feels to finally not be alone."

Kentin strokes his hair, curls his fingers in ash acajou tendrils. "I kinda get it. Not as long as you, obviously, but I was alone for a really long time."

"You were?"

"Yeah." Memories float up in a crystal clear clip-show, isolation on school steps, lunch money replaced with broken glasses, tear stains on his pillow and things he never said to friends who weren't there. "I guess that's why I wasn't really afraid of you. I've had my head dunked in toilets and found dog shit in my backpack. Vampires never scared me. You just never seemed real enough in comparison."

. . .

"What about garlic? Does it really ward you off?"

"It does, but not because I'm a vampire. I just don't like it, it smells really bad." Dimitry chuckles. "I didn't like it back when I was human, either. I suppose there's a grain of truth to the rumor though. Our sense of smell is much stronger than yours, so it smells even worse."

"What do I smell like?" Kentin wonders, greening and regretting the question as he belatedly realizes it's probably food.

"Sweet." Dimitry nuzzles his cheek and inhales deeply. "Very, very sweet."

"Sweet like barbecue sauce, right?" Kentin winces.

"Ah...Well..." Dimitry draws back, showing him a sorry smile. "Unfortunately it's not a terrible comparison. But I'd never hurt you. Never."

The sincerity that shines in his eyes stirs up butterflies in Kentin's stomach and he has to tear his eyes away as his cheeks incinerate.

"I know that," he says. "Anyway, do you wanna go shopping with me? I've got to pick up some stuff for my mom."

"Okay." Dimitry gets up and holds the door open, making Kentin's lips twitch.

He always finds himself somewhere between amused and endeared by all the little, weird gentlemanly gestures the vampire displays. He gets up and walks outside, skin prickling as the cool night air ruffles his clothes. A perfectly round moon eerily glows orange tonight, seeming so close he could almost pluck it out of the sky and jam it in his pocket.

Dimitry follows him out and pulls the door closed, and Kentin leads the way down the sidewalk.

"So do you have like, super night vision?" he asks.

"I do. It helps me hunt."

"So what do you see out here now that I can't?" Kentin's eyes skim over the silhouetted park fence, the shadowy trees.

Dimitry hums a light note and threads their fingers and Kentin is nearly inclined to let go, but then there's no reason to be shy, it's not as if they're going to run into anyone he knows.

"There's an owl in that tree over there. A mouse in the undergrowth that, unfortunately for its own sake, is unaware of it. There's a lost bike behind the fountain and a man in that alley coming up on your left."

Kentin silently marvels the rest of the walk and when they get to the Dollar Shop, Dimitry lets go of his hand just to hold the door open again like the old fashioned weirdo he is and Kentin finds himself smirking. He takes one of the provided plastic baskets and goes about getting what his mom asked for, grapefruit juice, toothpaste, a vacuum filter.

Dimitry sticks close. He seems a bit uncomfortable and Kentin supposes he can't blame him. The store is surprisingly crowded for it being so close to closing time. Kentin doesn't get it, or at least not until he glances up and sees the banner announcing that everything is seventy-five percent off.

They're at the tail end of a long checkout line and some baby is crying behind them and won't shut up when its mother tries to silence it with a pacifier. It's grating in itself, especially added to the (now louder) chatter of people in line, but Dimitry seems to have gone from slightly uncomfortable to distressed. Kentin quietly takes his hand again, hoping to soothe him if only a little bit.

Dimitry offers him a closed lipped smile, but he doesn't relax until they're outside.

"Oh, Kentin. Good evening." Lysander dips his head to them, apparently also here to take advantage of the sale. Or else he's just lost.

"Uh...Hi," Kentin says, and then he realizes that Lysander's staring at Dimitry. "Oh, this is Dimitry. My...Cousin." Because cousin is a lot less awkward than vampire-boyfriend-neighbor.

But evidently not believable.

"Your cousin?" Lysander questions, eyebrow dubiously quirking as he glances down to their intertwined fingers.

"Uh, yeah..." His face burns and he wants to let go, but it'd be too obvious. "Dimitry, this is Lysander. He goes to my school."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Dimitry politely bows his head and there's something playing on his lips, a glitter in the eye like he's entertained.

"Likewise." Lysander smiles, mismatched gaze still trailing Dimitry up and down. He seems impressed somehow...

Wait, is he checking him out!?

Oh hell no.

"Sorry, but we gotta go. It's getting late. Bye, Lysander." Kentin waves around him and pulls Dimitry down the sidewalk with as fast a gait as he can keep without breaking to a jog.

Dimitry chuckles. "I couldn't help but notice your friend's attire. It was unmistakably emulating my era."

"Yeah, he always wears stuff like that."

"Oh, now that's cute." Dimitry chuckles again, holding his chin.

"Cute!? What do you mean,_ cute!?"_ Kentin bristles.

Cold lips press a reply to his cheek.

. . .

That pounding on the window is not making the agony in his head any easier to bear. Kentin wants to tell it to stop, but the cactus in his throat won't allow that. He just burrows his head further under the pillow and hopes it goes away by itself.

It doesn't.

Suppressing a groan, he sits up, flinches as the blankets slip down and the air assails his sweat-sticky flesh. He looks to the window and squints, sees a pallid, stricken face pressed to the glass.

Kentin crawls over and fumbles with the lock, aching muscles protesting even at the minimal task of sliding the window open. "Dimitry?"

"Kentin!" Dimitry starts to reach for him and abruptly draws back. "You have to invite me in."

"You're invited." Kentin scoots back and smothers a cough into his elbow. "Come on in, just close the window."

Dimitry's through in the blink of an eye and the window is shut and locked again before he can even begin to squirm back under the blankets.

"You're sick!" exclaims the vampire, and Kentin has to flinch at his volume even though he knows he's just worried. Dimitry's freezing hands frantically cup his face, and Kentin's too weak too pull away and too slow to ask him to let go under the distressed barrage of words his aching head is struggling to keep up with. "By heavens, you're so sick! Please don't die, I'll go get a doctor!"

"Doctors don't really take house calls anymore, Dimitry," Kentin mumbles. "And I'm not d—"

"Then I'll take you to the hospital! It's going to be alright, I promise, just—"

"Dimitry!" Kentin's throat sears like he gulped down a glass and gravel smoothie, but he had to yell to get his panicking boyfriend's attention. He was practically hysterical. "I'm not dying. It's just the flu. I'll get better if you let me go and let me sleep it off."

Slowly, Dimitry's tight features lax and takes his hands back. He still looks apprehensive, but Kentin doesn't have to worry about getting dragged off to the emergency room. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Kentin croaks, worming under the covers once more and letting his head droop on the pillow. "I guess getting sick and stuff was more serious back in your day."

"...Yes. Much more serious..." Dimitry's voice wavers.

Kentin can't tell what his face is doing without his contacts, but he seems upset somehow.

"If you're that worried about me, you can stay over," he tells him. "I'm gonna sleep, but you can play Candy Crush on my phone or whatever. Just duck into my closet if you hear my parents come back."

"That would make me feel better," sighs Dimitry.

Kentin feels the covers being pulled up to his neck and drifts off again before he can say thank you.

. . .

"Since you're real, is any of that other stuff real? Werewolves? Boogeymen?"

Dimitry folds his fingers, brow furrowing and a pensive line shaping his mouth. "I'm not entirely sure. I've never even met another vampire. Not since the coven I originally sought out to get turned."

"Whoa. So it wasn't an accident or anything?" Kentin blinks at him curiously. "You wanted to be a vampire?"

Dimitry gives him a doleful, tender smile and in the threads of his expression, he looks his true age and Kentin can almost see the canyon of wrinkles that don't stick to such unnatural skin.

"I wanted to save someone," he says. "I wanted to be with her for eternity."

Pins of jealously poke into Kentin's heart, and a thorn of guilt joins the party because Dimitry looks so _sad. _

"I'm sorry," he breathes.

"Mm." Dimitry turns to the fireplace and watches the logs blaze, the flames glowing in his eyes. "It's not your onus to grieve for my regrets."

Kentin doesn't know how to respond to that and the air is suddenly as unsettling as it is depressing. He changes the subject and perhaps curiosity steers it more than practicality because it's not a conventionally cheerful diversion.

"So, coffins. Do you really sleep in one?"

Dimitry looks back to him and nods. "Would you like to see it?"

"Sure."

Dimitry stands up and grasps a tall candle from the mantle. "It's in the basement. The steps are a bit steep, so take care to hold the railing."

Kentin nods and follows Dimitry through the door that leads down. Not only are the steps steep, but they're dark and the candlelight is a pale, orangish sphere, barely enough to illuminate their outlines.

But it's enough for him to make out the large, rectangular casket. Most of the things Dimitry owns are older than old, but this is new. Silken cushioning pads the walls of polished mahogany, the handles and lugs gleam silver.

As if reading his mind, Dimitry says, "My old one was buried with my castle. I acquired this one just before moving in."

"It looks comfy," Kentin finds himself saying. And it's such a weird thing to say about a coffin, but it's true.

"You can try it out, if you'd like."

Goosebumps break out on Kentin's arms, the hairs on his neck rising. "Uh, no way."

Dimitry sets the candlestick down and languidly climbs into his macabre bed. Hips lips peel back in a fond, teasing smile. "Does this make it less scary?"

"I never said I was scared," Kentin declares quickly. "It's not scary. But normal people don't try out coffins."

"Don't tell me you're superstitious." Dimitry beckons him with a twitch of his fingers.

Kentin makes a critical noise, but those eyes are magnetic and he finds himself cramming in against their holder, nestling his face into an unmoving chest.

"Just don't shut the lid," he requests.

. . .

Dimitry is at the door and Cookie is going crazy.

He's snarling deep in his throat, saliva foaming around his bared teeth, nose wrinkled, hackled raised and fur bristling even as his feather-duster sized tail tucks between his legs.

Kentin has never seen him so aggressive before and he can only gape, mute with shock.

Dimitry is unfazed, but deflated somehow. "Animals always sense it. Perhaps I should go."

Kentin snaps out of his shock. "No! It's okay, I'll just put him in my room."

Even though he's still a puppy, Cookie is damn intimidating when he's growling like that. Kentin's scared he might get snapped at, but he takes him by the loose scruff of his neck anyway and hauls him to his bedroom. Cookie stops snarling, but his fur is still fluffed out and his ears are switched back. He whines when Kentin puts him on his bed.

Kentin pats him on the head leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He hears Cookie jump down and scratch at it, whining urgently. It pangs him to leave him locked up, but it'll only be until Dimitry leaves. He'll have to give him extra treats to make up for it.

He trots back to the front room and sighs. "I've never seen him do that before..."

"I apologize for frightening him." Dimitry frowns on the other side of the threshold.

"It's alright. It's not like you tried to."

Dimitry nods, blows out a low sigh of his own, and then sheepishly touches the gem on his cravat. "Ah, Kentin...You have to invite me in."

"Oh, right." Kentin blinks, tips his head. "Wait, what if I don't? Is there some kind of supernatural barrier keeping you out?"

"Well, no..." Dimitry's mouth folds. "But I feel like I can't. It's difficult to explain."

"Maybe that one's a myth and you've just psyched yourself into believing it."

Dimitry takes a few uncertain steps inside. He's soundless as his legs give out and then he's bleeding. No, bleeding isn't the right word because there are no wounds, he's just leaking blood in sudden streams from his scalp, his eyes, his mouth, his fingernails; it's like the very pores of his flesh are weeping red.

"Shit! You can come in, you can come in!" Kentin scrabbles to his side. "Dimitry, I'm sorry! Does it hurt?"

Dimitry raises his head and blinks dazedly, the leakage ceased. "So that's what happens."

Kentin chews his lip. For a span of five seconds tops, there's a lot of blood. It drenches his boyfriend's face, stains his clothes, though by some miracle the carpet is unharmed.

"You need a shower..."

Dimitry gives him a wan smile. "Will you join me?"

"Pfft. You're not half as classy as you look." Kentin helps him to his feet and feels lighter as he leads him to the bathroom.

Dimitry undresses smoothly, and Kentin admires his body in all its eternal preservation. Lithe muscles on a willowy frame much smaller than his own and infinitely more powerful with unimaginable strength. The graceful slope of his back rolls into an ass curved in a generous half-moon. Even the jarring splashes of blood on his skin can't tarnish his allure.

Kentin almost feels embarrassed to unclothe his own body before him. Almost. He worked very hard for a very long time, strained himself to his limit and then some to achieve the shape he's in now. He fought for confidence in that, if anything, and now that he has it it doesn't waver easily. And any apprehension he might've felt anyway vanishes when Dimitry's eyes trail along his physique, bringing a fanged smile as they linger.

Kentin turns the faucet and steps over the edge of the tub, tugging Dimitry along and ushering him under the hot spray. The vampire sighs in contentment and Kentin squeezes a generous amount of shampoo onto his head, gently scrubbing his scalp and lathering it in. The blood washes from his skin, turning pink as the water dilutes it and carries it down the drain.

"That's nice," Dimitry murmurs.

"You can borrow some of my clothes when we get out. I'd wash yours, but I'm not sure how well material that old will do in a washing machine."

"I'll hand wash them," Dimitry says, but for now his hands stroke down Kentin's sides and settle on his hips, giving a gentle squeeze.

Kentin cups Dimitry's neck and stands on his toes to nuzzle his forehead, inhaling steam, the clean scent of soap bubbles tickling his nose. Dimitry kisses him slow on the mouth and Kentin parts his lips to accept it, as revolting as the experience is. He tries to focus on the pleasantry of hot water raining down his back, but it only serves to make him more aware of Dimitry's unnaturally gelid lips, and when he's so caught up in trying not to shudder, a flood of salty warmth flows over his tongue and he realizes, _shit_, those fangs really sliced it.

Dimitry abruptly breaks the kiss, pushing Kentin back so fast he hits the wall and slips down to the ceramic. He catches a glimpse of Dimitry's face, wild-eyed and stupefied as blood rolls down his mouth, then disappearing in an instant.

A sharp, piercing whimper splits the air and Kentin gasps, scrambling over the side of the tub and pelting to his room.

Dimitry's face is buried in Cookie's throat, wet scarlet matting his chest fur, his paws slack and tail limp.

He chokes out a faint noise of horror and Dimitry's head snaps up, blood messily smeared all around his mouth and down his chin in a morbid clown's frown and eyes locking onto Kentin's with the keen killing intent of any ruthless predator.

Kentin stumbles back, heart jumping into his throat as he whips around and dashes down the hall. He's tackled from behind with such a force that he would think he was hit by a truck if it weren't for the icy fingers encircling his wrists, his bones crunching like dry cereal. He screams and something pinches the back of his neck.

"Dimitry, Dimi—"

. . .

When Kentin opens his eyes, things look different.

They look clear and precise, which can't be right because he doesn't sleep with his contacts in or his glasses on. This ceiling isn't his ceiling and he smells things that don't belong to his ceiling; he smells burnt matches and melting wax and drying blood.

He hears bats sleeping in the attic and the un-breath of himself and the one sitting beside him, and everything that happened before the dark took over punches him in the gut as he heaves himself to a stand.

"There you are," Dimitry greets hollowly, gaze fixed upon the floor. "I thought I might've been too late."

Kentin rapidly checks his wrist for a pulse and finds none.

"What did you do to me!?" he demands as dread impales his chest and cement mix encases his insides. "What the fuck did you do to me!?"

Dimity silently passes him the bloodied handheld mirror he recognizes from his own bathroom.

When Kentin snatches it up and confirms his fears, he breaks it over Dimitry's head and Dimitry does not stop him.

* * *

**Beh. Will fix typos when I'm finished drying out e_e' **

**And on another note, thank you for being such a sweetie on New Years, Dawn Quixote. It seems you expected a reply, and sorry this is kinda late, but FF doesn't allow replies to anon reviews. But yeah, no, you made me feel nice and sugary, you sweet person you. If you're still hanging around, feel free to request something in a review and whatnot. **


End file.
